His name was Larry Miller.

A retired college professor who quickly grew bored at home, Mr. Miller (as I knew him then) showed up to teach the second grade in slacks and a dress shirt every day. He was strict but kind and I will never forget him.

He was the first person who saw an inkling of writing talent in me. I don’t remember the specifics anymore. All I know is that I wrote a story that had something to do with my golden retriever and after reading it he called my mother.

“Shannon will grow up to become an author,” he said. “Her story is exceptional. Continue to encourage her in her writing.”

One man saw talent in an awkward eight-year-old girl and he encouraged it and went out of his way to enlist others to nurture and grow that talent too.

Long before I knew I wanted to be an author, I knew I was good at something. While I struggled with math or turned my nose up at science, there was one area I always excelled: writing.

Part of that, I’m sure, is due to gifting. But part of it can be credited to the fact that my teacher and my parents instilled confidence in me by recognizing my talent when they saw it. I’ve never been afraid to sit down to a blank sheet of paper and put words on the page. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always known I was good at it.

Last week when I was in Bogota, Colombia with Compassion International I met hundreds of kids who might not have a Larry Miller in their lives. Yet, for now, they still choose to dream.

One project I visited has a vision board on the wall in one of the hallways. On it, children cut out photos of their faces and pasted them on pictures of people living out their dream careers. There was a soccer player, an Olympic runner and even a rock star, among other things.

I stopped and studied the board and thought back to my second grade self. Vision is a powerful thing. Sometimes the only thing that stands between where we are and where we want to be is our inability to see ourselves there.

Each of us has the opportunity to be a Larry Miller in the life of someone else. You don’t have to be a teacher or a parent to instill the power to dream in another person. All you have to do is speak up.

Next time you notice raw talent in someone say it. Cast a vision before someone else and give her permission to dream. Instill in him the confidence he needs to be worthy of the task.

Decide today that you are going to make a difference.

While you’re at it, take a moment to reflect on the Larry Millers in your life. If you can find them, take the time to thank them.

But if, like me, your Larry Miller is someone you have no way of tracking down, honor that person and his or her role in your life by choosing to pay it forward. Never underestimate the power of words.

After all, my writing career started in the second grade.